


Light a Flame

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Idiots in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24180256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: You’re paired with Steve Rogers for a project. Captain of the debate team, track and field star, and actual intelligent man… which just made you more furious. It would be one thing if he was an idiot. But he wasn’t, and you needed an A in this class to get through the rest of the year unscathed.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 82





	Light a Flame

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own Steve Rogers, or Marvel. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites without my permission!

As a general rule, you tried not to dislike people, or hold grudges.

It didn’t do any good, even if at the time your reason for being upset was completely justified. You were considering changing your stance after meeting Steve Rogers, however.

He seemed perfect - perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect _teeth_ – but you got a glimpse at the real person under the mask when you were paired together for a politics project.

He was– you couldn’t even put it into words.

Smug.

Self righteous.

A pain in the ass.

(Also the most attractive person you’ve seen up close, with his sharp jaw and deep blue eyes, and the way he _laughed_ –)

Okay, maybe you could put it into words. Still, it did nothing to help your situation, because you were stuck with him for the semester. Him and his know-it-all attitude.

Steve Rogers. Captain of the debate team, track and field star, and actual intelligent man… which just made you more furious. It would be one thing if he was an idiot. But he wasn’t, and you needed an A in this class to get through the rest of the year unscathed.

You stew silently as you sit in the library and wait for him. He’s almost an hour late, and you’re thinking of a million witty retorts for when he finally shows up, but it all flies right out of your head when he comes jogging into the library, eyes a little wild and hair windswept.

He spots you, and his shoulders slump. He gets to you in a few long strides.

“I’m sorry–”

“I took off work to be here today–” you start, angrily.

“I know, and I didn’t mean to be late, but I got caught up–”

“It’s common decency to be on time! Especially when one person has already rearranged their schedule–”

He almost collapses into the chair across from you, wiping his hand down his face. “I said I was sorry. It won’t happen again.”

He sounds genuinely upset, and for the first time, you’re not sure how to respond. “… Are you okay?”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Fine. Let’s just get to work.”

The two of you debate for what feels like hours. Steve wants to present a moral argument on an issue, you want to present a logical argument on the same issue… honestly, you wonder if Professor Coulson realized what he was doing when he paired you together.

After an especially long yawn from Steve, you feel your patience wearing thin. “You know what? I’m calling it. Don’t want to bore you to death.”

He looks taken aback. “Sorry?”

“You haven’t done anything but act bored and like you’d rather be anywhere else since you got here. So I’ll save you the trouble and finish the rest of the presentation myself.”

Angrily, he stands, mirroring you. “We haven’t decided on anything yet.”

“I don’t need your input.”

“Look, I don’t know what I did to piss you off so much–”

“Besides your general…” You gesture vaguely in his direction, immediately regretting it when his eyes go cold and a bitter smile shows up on his face.

He nods. “Okay. Well, I won’t keep you.”

You had visions of leaving him there, sitting there alone like he had done to you, but instead the door clicks with a kind of finality that you weren’t expecting to feel so guilty about as he leaves, and you’re alone again.

.

.

.

It starts raining while Steve is walking back to his apartment, but he barely notices. He’s surprised there isn’t steam coming off of him with how hot with anger and embarrassment he feels after his encounter with you.

He doesn’t understand why he lets you get under his skin this way.

He wishes you would just _see him_ for once.

You and he have had classes together for years, but have never really been in the same social circles, or been paired up on anything together.

It doesn’t mean he’s never noticed you before.

He remembers the first time he ever saw you vividly. And he kinda hates himself for it, because while he remembers every detail of that moment, he doubts you do.

He sticks his foot in his mouth every time you come within five feet of him, and now you hate him.

He gets to his apartment and is literally dripping wet, Bucky pulling open the door before he can put his key into the lock, eyes widening.

“What the hell happened?”

“She hates me.” He hangs his sodden jacket on a hook by the door, tossing his keys into the bowl on the small table. “I was late, and I tried to apologize—”

“Jesus. How you’ve managed to mess this up so spectacularly, I have no idea.”

“Fuck off,” Steve groans, heading to his bedroom to change out of his wet clothes, seething the entire time.

“All I’m saying,” Bucky’s voice drifts through the closed door, “Is that you finally have the chance to get to know the girl, and now you can’t even get that right?”

Steve grits his teeth. “Remind me why we’re friends again?”

He opens the door to see Bucky’s grinning face.

“Because no one else would put up with your dramatic ass for their entire lives.” He follows Steve to the kitchen, sitting at one of the bar stools while Steve pulls out a bowl and some cereal.

“She wouldn’t even let me explain why I was late, and I apologized straight away… she’s impossible. We’re both going to fail this project because she hates me so much she’d rather take a failing grade than work with me.”

Bucky looks skeptical. “Why _were_ you late?”

Steve sighs, knowing he’s going to get shit for this no matter how hard he defends himself. “I was talking to Sharon—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Bucky exclaims, face twisted in exasperation. “For what? For the final nail in your coffin? Jesus, dude—”

“She asked me to call her! I thought something was wrong.”

Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder, “I say this with the most love a best friend can say this with: you really have to get a grip. You and Sharon broke up months ago.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“It is when you have feelings for someone else!”

Steve groans, letting his forehead hit the counter top. “You know, she wasn’t the nicest person in the world either, but I don’t think she’s getting chewed out by her best friend right now.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, well. She doesn’t have me for a best friend, does she?”

.

.

.

MJ and Peter stare at you in disbelief.

“You said _what_?” Peter asks, eyes wide.

“He was late! By a lot!”

MJ shakes her head. “You told him his general existence is why you don’t like him? Girl.”

You feel your cheeks reddening. “I know, I know. I just— I got so angry, and it just came out.” You bury your face in your hands. “I’m the worst.”

“You’re not the worst,” Peter assures you. “You just suck at having a crush on someone.”

You glare at him.

You have no idea how you let it get this far. You tend to be standoffish when you like someone, because you’re afraid of the inevitable, that they won’t like you back and that you’ll be stuck pining after someone.

But the truth? The truth is that Steve Rogers has a way of pushing your buttons like no one else, while simultaneously being the nicest, most attractive person you know.

“I should apologize.” You mutter, so quiet Peter and MJ actually lean closer to hear you.

“What?”

“I said I should apologize.” You groan. “I’m never going to live this down. He’s just–”

“Super hot?” MJ finishes, eyebrow raised.

You groan again, and try to tune out the laughter of your friends.

Hours later, in the quiet dark of your apartment, glasses perched on your nose, you open a blank email.

**To: sgrogers@nyu.edu  
From: reader@nyu.edu  
** **Subject: Sorry**

**Steve,**

**Sorry for bailing on our project planning session today. I’m also sorry I was a huge jerk. I had a bad day and took it out on you.**

**Can we meet another day this week to finish up?**

**Sorry again.**

You hit _send_ before you can second guess it, and hope that you didn’t screw up as monumentally as you think you might have.

An hour later, a _ping_ from your computer wakes you up, and with bleary eyes, you read:

**To: reader@nyu.edu  
From: sgrogers@nyu.edu  
** **Subject: Re: Sorry**

**I’m sorry too, for being late. And for arguing so much. I’m free tomorrow after 1pm if that works for you.**

You’re surprised, but relief takes over you as you finally fall asleep.

.

.

.

Steve is fidgety, and he doesn’t _do_ fidgety. He’s usually calm and collected, but he knows he was a jerk the night before, and it doesn’t sit well with him.

He’s also a little worried that you’re going to yell at him again, which– _fair_ , but not really what he wants to deal with.

He sees you come into the Starbucks and waves from the table he’s claimed towards the back, hoping that being in a more public place will deter you from any violence. Not that he thinks you’d resort to that. But who knows, at this point.

“Hey.” You say quietly when you get closer, dumping your bag on the empty chair across from him.

“Hi.”

An uncomfortable silence settles over the two of you.

“Look, we already emailed about it, so can we skip the awkward apologies and just get to work?”

Relief floods him. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Great. I’m going to order a coffee.”

You’re back in a few minutes, and start digging out notebooks and color-coded spreadsheets, and he has a minute to be impressed before you meet his eyes, arching your eyebrows.

“So this is what I’ve done over the last three weeks. I’ve got all the info here, but we need to make it look presentable. Lucky for us, you’re the art major.”

“Art _history_ –”

You wave a hand, “You can draw. I’ve seen you doodle.”

He snorts. “Okay.”

You look at him again, “If you don’t want to, we can make it digital, but I just thought it would be better–”

Steve runs a hand over his jaw, “No, you’re right. It would look more authentic. It’s the least I can do, too. You know. To make up for yesterday.”

Steve feels you staring at him, and he fidgets again. He has no idea what you’re looking for, but he can imagine what you see. The circles under his eyes, the stubble from the few days he hasn’t shaved… he’s a mess. And you got caught up in it just by the bad luck of being his partner on this project.

“Why were you late yesterday, anyway?” You ask finally.

Steve busies himself tearing the label off the side of his coffee cup. “My ex called.”

He watches you go rigid, and for a horrifying moment, he thinks maybe he got this all wrong. Maybe you do see him the way he sees you, and now he’s just admitted that he was late to meet you because of his ex, and–

“We were together for a long time and she has an aunt that’s sick, when she called I–”

“I get it. You don’t have to explain yourself.” The spark he’s used to seeing in your eyes - especially when bantering with him – is completely gone. He almost wishes Bucky was here to kick his ass.

You go back to organizing your notes, and the moment is gone.

He can’t help but think he’s managed to fuck this up _again_.

.

.

You don’t know why you’re acting like this.

So Steve still keeps in touch with his ex, so what. Why do you care so much? He said it himself, she’s got a sick aunt, and maybe the breakup was amicable, because Steve Rogers is totally that type of guy.

It’s impossible not to like him, as you’re slowly discovering.

You’re annoyed that when he admitted why he was late, it felt like getting doused in cold water. But then– the look on his face when he saw you deflate a little… what was that about? His eyes were pleading… for what? Understanding?

Your head hurts.

You haven’t even been here for a half hour and Steve is already so far under your skin you’ll be amazed if you get out of this project unscathed.

Steve draws up some quick drafts of the posters for your project and you give him some input here and there, but the conversation is minimal and quiet.

Every now and then you can feel his eyes on you. Those big, sad, blue eyes… you’re just so confused by him. He normally seems so put together, so sure of himself, but now it’s the opposite. You can’t believe that you have something to do with it.

Because you’re no one special, or at least that’s what you think.

You have no idea that Steve would disagree.

.

.

.

A few days go by without any word from Steve.

A quick email is sent to check in on his progress, but that’s it. You don’t know why you feel so gloomy about it.

“What are you thinking about? Steve?” MJ asks, tossing a pillow at you from the bed across from yours.

“What?”

“You know. Tall, blonde, handsome?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not thinking about him.”

She chuckles. “Wow. You suck at lying.”

“He’s probably busy.”

MJ narrows her eyes. “And that doesn’t bother you at all?”

You set your chemistry textbook down with a thump. “Is there a point to this?”

“You like him. You’re both idiots. You should just tell him already and put him out of his misery. Maybe then you can actually get a good grade on this project instead of trying to tiptoe around it.”

“You know what? I’m hungry. I’m going to go to the dining hall.”

You shove on some boots and a jacket and leave before MJ can say anything else that you’re not ready to hear.

On your way, your head is spinning. There’s just no way that Steve likes you. And there’s no way you like him either! You– you barely tolerate him. You’re from two different worlds… there’s no way it would work.

Besides, it sounds like things are weird with his ex. You have no desire to get in the middle of anything like that.

So lost in your thoughts, you round a corner, and run straight into an absolute brick wall of a man. You almost fall, but your yelp startles him into action and he grabs your arm, yanking you upright.

“Shit,” he curses, “Are you okay?”

“Fine!” You squeak.

“Oh,” He says, “I know you. You’re Steve’s project partner.”

You blink up at him before you recognize him as Steve’s friend, Bucky. “Hi. Sorry about that.”

“No problem.” He frowns. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on that thing with Steve right now?”

It’s your turn to frown. “What are you talking about? I haven’t heard from him all week.” You think the hurt at Steve being basically off the grid after you thought you’d had a breakthrough shows on your face.

Bucky sighs, eyes closing, tipping his head back like the weight of the universe is suddenly on his shoulders. “What an idiot.”

“Excuse me?!”

His eyes fly open. “Not you! Him. Definitely him. Listen, I gotta go.” He takes two steps before turning back to you, his voice suddenly much more serious. “Do me a favor and don’t give up on him, okay?”

“Uh– okay,” you say, still not really sure what he’s talking about.

He leaves and you go grab some dinner, wondering when the hell your life got this confusing.

.

.

.

The door bursts open and Bucky comes through it, eyes flashing. “You know, I could just strangle you right now.”

Steve glances up from his seat on the couch, thumbing through a paperback he’s already read four times. “What?”

“Tell me why I just, quite literally, ran into your project partner at the dining hall when she’s supposed to be at the library working with you, like you’ve been telling me for the last three days.”

Steve sighs. Bucky continues.

“Also tell me why she looked like someone kicked her puppy when she said she hasn’t heard from you at all this week.”

Steve clenches his jaw. No matter what he does, he keeps fucking this up. He’s not trying to hurt you, or avoid you, it’s the last thing he wants. But he has to get his shit straight before he even thinks about telling you how he feels.

“You’ve been telling me for days that you were going to study with her and finally tell her that you’re crazy about her.” Bucky sits down next to Steve, actually looking a bit angry, and not just amused like he has all the other times before. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“I had to– I saw Sharon today.”

Bucky’s eyes darken, “You absolute–”

“I told her I can’t keep seeing her.” When it appears like Bucky is going to hold off on his tirade for now, Steve plows on, “I told her I wanted to be her friend, that I’d be there for her if her Aunt Peggy gets worse, but that’s it. I can’t meet up for coffee, I can’t text her every day like she wants. I ended it, for good this time.”

Bucky still looks suspicious. “She was fine with that?”

“I think she realized that we were still acting like we’re a couple without actually being together.”

“What are you going to do now?”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “I think I have some serious groveling to do. I just didn’t want to say anything without talking to Sharon first. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of them.”

Bucky lays a heavy hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You’re a better person than you give yourself credit for, you know.” A beat. “Sorry for saying I wanted to strangle you.”

Steve laughs.

.

.

.

A knock on the door brings you out of your thoughts, but you make no move to get up. MJ is on her feet anyway, so she pulls open the door and you hear a few murmured words before she turns to you.

“Your friend is here.”

She moves and you see him, looking sheepish as he hovers in the doorway.

“I just remembered I have to meet Peter. To talk about the thing. Be back later.” MJ says, the traitor, and leaves you alone with Steve, who looks a bit lost as he shuts the door behind him and steps inside.

“I can go if you’re busy…” He says quietly.

You shrug. “Didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

Steve’s shoulders slump. “I know. I’m sorry.” He takes a few tentative steps towards you. “Can I sit?”

You shrug again. It figures, now that he’s actually here, you’re unable to string two words together.

“Can I tell you something?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “I was really happy when I saw we were paired together for this project. I– I thought you hated me, and I like you, so you can imagine how much that sucked.” He hears your quick intake of breath and smiles, but keeps going. “I thought this was my chance. To get to know you, for you to get to know me. But I keep fucking it up.”

You can’t really believe what you’re hearing. Despite yourself, your heart rate picks up.

“I know I– people think whatever they think about me. That I’m some– some hero, some perfect person, and I…” he shakes his head, “I’ve never known how to live up to that. But when I actually wanted to be that person around _you_ , I just turned into the biggest asshole on the face of the Earth.”

“Steve, wait.” You interrupt him, unable to handle the look on his face for another second. “We’re both idiots, okay?” Out of instinct, you reach for his hand, your decision solidified when he grips yours right back, no hesitation. “I wasn’t very nice to you either. I didn’t even try to ask if you had something else going on.”

“I’m a control freak and too competitive.” He arches his eyebrows, almost like he’s daring you to contradict him.

“I’m too sarcastic and overreact.”

“I can’t stand the thought of people hating me, so I try to make everyone happy even when it’s impossible.” He says quietly, looking down at your joined hands.

“Your ex?”

“That’s done.” Steve says, and you feel the conviction in his words, giving you the courage you need to meet his eyes again. “It doesn’t make up for the fact that I let my outside stuff influence me enough to be a jerk to you. But it won’t happen again.”

Suddenly, with more confidence than you feel, you stand, tugging Steve to his feet. “Come on, I have an idea.”

.

.

.

Steve follows you in a daze, his brain rapidly trying to process everything that just happened. He apologized, like he should have done weeks ago. He cleared the air with Sharon, like he should have done weeks ago.

He told you he likes you.

You didn’t really respond, but he almost doesn’t care. Because the negative tension that used to be in the air between you is gone, and you’re still holding his hand, tugging him with you to God knows where.

A stop at the coffee cart, and then you’re pulling him into the library. He looks down at you, and you smirk.

“Time to pay up, Rogers. We’re getting an A on this project if it kills us.”

Your voice is decidedly flirty, and Steve sort of feels like he’s been hit over the head with something heavy. That smile aimed at him? Designed to kill.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” He agrees, chuckling.

You don’t leave the library until very late.

He holds your hand again on the walk back.

Four days later, you do your presentation with Steve, and even your professor looks amazed at how it goes off without a hitch. The original artwork Steve did to help illustrate your points had people coming up to get a closer look afterwards, and if Steve preens a little at the proud look in your eyes as you glance at him, well who could blame him?

“Let’s get coffee,” he says afterwards, pulling you off to one side. He can’t get over the soft way you’re looking at him, and would do just about anything to spend more time with you today.

He’s still half worried that now that the project is done, you’ll go back to acting like he doesn’t exist.

The coffee shop just off campus is quiet when you get there, and even though you roll your eyes, you agree to let Steve buy your coffee. As he waits for your order, he watches you out of the corner of your eye as you pick a table by the window, the sun hitting your profile, and for a minute he’s totally dumbstruck.

Sitting down across from you, your fingers graze his when he hands you your cup, and he’s about to ask you out, for real this time, when you beat him to the punch.

“I never really responded to what you told me the other night.”

Steve swallows hard, trying to act nonchalant. “Oh?”

You roll your eyes. “I– god. Stop looking at me like that!”

He can’t help it, he grins. “Like what?”

“Smug. Like you already know what I’m going to say. Do you look at all the girls like that?”

His smile softens. “No. Not all of them.”

Something warm unfurls in Steve’s chest as he watches you take in his words, your entire demeanor turning shy.

“ _Anyway_ , like I was _saying_ –” You say, “You told me you liked me.”

Steve feels like his palms are going to start sweating. “I did.”

“I never said anything.”

“No,” he agrees, “You didn’t.”

You shift a little bit, and it sort of makes him hopeful that you seem nervous, even though the last thing he wants is for you to be uncomfortable. “I guess I– I sort of like you too.”

Steve laughs, “Oh, you _guess_ you _sort of_ like me - my, oh my. How will I ever recover from this romantic confession?” He presses his hand to his heart.

“I take it back - I hate you.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“No, you don’t.” He says, smug. “I think my plan worked.” He leans a little farther over the tabletop so he can grab your hand again.

You snort. “Oh yeah, your plan absolutely worked and definitely didn’t backfire at all.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Steve says, absolutely in awe of the feeling coursing through him right now. Is this what being smitten is like? It’s probably an old-fashioned thought, but he doesn’t care.

He tugs a little bit on your hand so you’re leaning forward too, and then he’s pressing the gentlest of kisses to your lips, holding your hand while his other hand reaches up to cradle your jaw. He thinks if he opened his eyes he would see literal sparks, and sighs when you melt into him.

“There.” He says, voice husky, as you pull apart. “Does that convince you?”

“You’re still a pain in the ass, Steve Rogers.”

“Back at you, honey."


End file.
